Jinxed
by Much Ado About Nonny
Summary: Small snapshots in the life of one very damaged young Twi'lek after his escape from Wasskah. Chapters 19 and 20: Order 66 strikes Felucia.
1. The Force

**Hello. Nonny here. I'm making my first foray into Star Wars: The Clone Wars fanfic with IenzosShuggoCharra's 100 Theme Challenge. I'm looking forward to how this will play out, and I will gladly accept any and all constructive criticism I receive in any reviews (hint hint ;) ).**

**Beware, this story _will_ use a pairing that has not yet caught on, namely Jinx/Ahsoka (or Jinxsoka, for when it _does_ catch on). I won't be trying to offend any other shippers, but...still, be forewarned.**

**Other than that, I shall try to update this two short chapters at a time. Just so ya'll don't accidentally skip anything (which, trust me, I've done).**

**And here we go...**

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><p><em>The Force<em>

If you asked one particular young Jedi Padawan, a Twi'lek whose given name was Jin'Xerquina (better known as Jinx), what the definition of the Force was, his definition would vary based on his mood and just who, exactly, you were.

If you were a random civilian, or another, higher-ranking Jedi whom he had never met, he'd give you the standard answer drilled into him in the Temple Academy. _The Force is an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us, penetrates us, and binds the galaxy together. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have about five standard years of homework to catch up on._

If you were his master or another higher-ranking Jedi whom he respected greatly, he'd consider for a time, and try to come up with something that sounded a bit more original than the standard answer. _The Force is a Jedi's greatest resource. (__Yes, but what _is_ it?__) …Our greatest advisor? (_Yes_, but what _is_ it?__) …An energy field that binds the world together. (__Correct, now, what is it to _you?_) …Okay, _now_ you're playing with my head, Master. (__Very astute. Think on the question, will you?__)_

If you were a close friend by the name of O-Mer (and you'd have to be, since O-Mer was the only close friend he had still living after Wasskah), he'd give you a dirty look. _Oy, mate, why don't you try catching up on five years of homework _now,_ and asking stupid questions _later? _Numbskull…_

If you were a beautiful, confident young woman called Ahsoka Tano, you'd probably stand there waiting as he stared vacantly at you for twenty straight seconds. **FATAL ERROR, FATAL ERROR, RIGHT LEKKU JUST FIGURED OUT THAT SUBJECT IS FEMALE, LEFT LEKKU STILL STUCK ON THE FACT THAT SUBJECT IS SPEAKING TO **_**ME**_**, FATAL ERROR, FATAL ERROR**_…Gahhuhwhatnow? Uh, sorry, what was that?_

But, if you were a fly on the wall in Jinx's room which was somehow capable of reading his mind right when he had a rare, lucid moment of complete self-honesty, the truth would finally come out. _The Force is the only thing I have left. It's my only connection to my dead friends, and at times the only way I can speak to my living friends. It's the one thing I can count on to be there whenever I need it, whether I like it or not. _

_And yet I'm not quite sure if I can trust it, or anything else, ever again._


	2. Doing Nothing

_Doing Nothing_

_She_ was the one who had started all this.

_She_ had come crashing into their complacent, horrible, futile little existences and loudly and patently refused to sit on her hands and wait for the lizards to gut her.

_She_ had fought back, and compelled them to do the same, complete with one or two kicks to the backside to chase away the despair.

_She_ had brought one last, lingering glimmer of hope to their lives, right before they were about to give up.

_She _had reminded them of who they were, and who they still could be, if they simply put in the effort.

And _now_, she expects them to wait for this Wookiee's little phone-home signal to bring in outside help, when it's quite obvious that they have to get out of this on their own?

Jinx has been doing nothing for nearly _five standard years_, and it's gotten him nowhere. He's through making that mistake. And _she_ should be able to understand that, if she truly comprehends the magnitude of what she has done for him.


	3. Jedi Master

**Thank you to all who reviewed, especially san davis 687, whom I couldn't thank in person.**

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><p><em>Jedi Master<em>

"So, Jinx, what do you intend to do now?"

The older Jedi's musical, accented voice woke him from a very troubled reverie. Blinking, he glanced briefly toward her, before focusing on the panoramic view of Trandosha outside the Star Cruiser's bridge windows.

"I don't know. The Masters have allowed me to retake the Initiate Trials, but I think I'll end up in one of the Service Corps."

Aayla regarded him with one perfectly formed eyebrow raised. "Is that what you want?"

He smirked bitterly, an action that made her wince. "No," he said in a tone too cynical and jaded to belong to a boy his age. "But since when does what _I_ want figure into the equation at all?"

She did not rise to the bait of his combative question, opting instead to mildly gaze out at the stars. "Well, if there was a Jedi who was willing to take you on…and there should be a few, you were quite well trained before your capture…I'm sure you could continue your training as a Padawan."

"Oh, pray tell, what Master would have me, a sixteen-year-old Initiate three years past the cut-off point? I'm just too old and too…damaged to become a Padawan now, so I might as well get used to the fact."

_Too damaged._ That was eerily similar to how the Council had described her long ago, when she'd fallen under the influence of a Dark Jedi before her training was complete. But her Master had never given up on _her_, had he?

She was sure someone would give her an earful when she presented her claim to the Council upon their arrival on Coruscant. She'd be warned against taking such an influential step in haste, encouraged to meditate more before taking her first apprentice. But she had meditated, and was meditating on the notion right now, and this felt…_right_. As right as it had felt the day Master Vos had informed her that he would be training her, so very many years ago.

Jinx was a risk, yes, but he was one she was willing to take. After all, once upon a time, _she_ had been the risk.

"If you wish, I could be your Master," she said quietly.

He turned to her, his expression unreadable in its turmoil. "But only if you wish," Aayla amended, hoping she had not overstepped her boundaries.

He surprised her with a tight hug around her waist, which she returned swiftly, caring not about the prying eyes of the clone navigators going about their business. This _was_ the right choice, and both of them knew it. No Council could deny it now.


	4. Coming of Age

**This chapter is rated "T" for "_Too_ Much Information." If menarche humor doesn't really sit well with you, be _warned._ **

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><p><em>Coming Of Age<em>

Trandosha – the actual planet, not its wild, unfriendly moon – was proving to be a little more agreeable than Jinx had first expected. The inhabitants were at least civil toward them, though they still glared daggers because the Jedi _dared_ prosecute some of their most upstanding citizens simply for carrying out Trandosha's most sacred religious traditions (i.e. kidnapping, hunting sentients for sport, and eventual murder).

This comparatively cordial welcome was probably due to the fact that Lissarkh, the Master commanding this particular mission, was a Trandoshan, and well-respected as the Jedi Watchman of this planet during peacetime. How she had managed to _become_ well-respected on a planet that revered the hunting of sentient beings for sport _probably_ needed to be looked into, but the lizards hadn't yet swarmed the Jedi headquarters demanding blood, so the other six Jedi on the mission weren't complaining.

Well, Jinx, O-Mer, Ahsoka, and Sipora (Lissarkh's Barabel Padawan) weren't complaining. Master Koon and Knight Secura were doing an admirable job of holding their tongues, but their discomfort was made quite plain.

Still, Lissarkh's reputation had ensured that today, at least, the young ones could take a break from identifying and incarcerating suspects who had had a hand in their kidnappings and have a few minutes to be _kids_ again for a while. All four of them were at least wise enough to take advantage of those moments when they came.

Such as now, when the older three Jedi were downstairs having some sort of important conversation and the younglings were winding down right before bed. The girls were visiting the boys' room (with the door left standing open, of course), and they and O-Mer sat cross-legged on the floor, making a rough three-point triangle. Jinx had settled into his bed, the top bunk of the bunk-bed set of the room, and was pretending to be disinterested in talk, save for when the opportunity for him to crack some snarky comment presented itself. They spoke of everything, and nothing, and didn't really care about minding the topics of their conversation as long as they got to enjoy each other's company while they could before lights-out. Really, the question that came up shouldn't have taken them by surprise as much as it did.

"So Ahsoka, I've wanted to ask," O-Mer began, pausing long enough to let the girls stop laughing at one of Sipora's odd serpentine jokes. "Why, exactly, do you wear that red sash? I've only seen you and Master Shaak Ti wearing it, and I was wondering if it serves some sort of cultural purpose."

Only a Cerean could word a casual question so formally, and it made Ahsoka giggle and Sipora…siss for a few seconds. Jinx, however, was used to such things, having grown up with O-Mer in the same youngling Clan; he ignored the unintentional hilarity of his colleague's question and leaned over the bunk rail in genuine curiosity, since this was a topic he had been pondering as well.

"You're right. It's a…a _coming of age_ gift," Ahsoka replied. When the special emphasis she placed on her words seemed too opaque for her non-Togruta audience, she cleared her throat in mild discomfort. "You know…for when a girl _becomes a woman._"

There was a moment of silence. "Oh," said O-Mer politely, and then realization dawned on him. "_Oh…_"

Jinx couldn't help it; O-Mer's expression was just too priceless. He burst into raucous laughter that echoed off the ceiling above him, as Ahsoka and O-Mer tried to explain the delicate details of the female mammalian reproductive cycle to poor, hapless, reptilian Sipora. At last, he started to calm down from his hysterical state, just as Sipora began to understand.

"All thiz one haz to say iz…you'd complain even more if you had to lay an egg every month, me thinkz."

A few minutes later, Master Koon was forced to come in and enquire just what was going on and _why_ it was so funny to make Jinx wake the neighbors up at this time of night. Ahsoka just smiled and waved him off, and didn't point out the fact that it was the first time she had heard Jinx laugh without bitterness.

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><p><strong>Lissarkh is not mine; she's an actual character, background though she might be. Sipora, however, is mine, added just for the joy of having a Barabel somewhere in here.<strong>


	5. Prank

**Three chapters today, since this and Coming Of Age are a set. Enjoy!**

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><p><em>Prank<em>

A few mornings after the sash discussion, Jinx awoke and stretched gingerly, trying to avoid hitting his head or hand on the ceiling above like he had the last couple of mornings (which was, in his opinion, the _one_ downside to sleeping in his nice, comfortable top bunk). When, despite his care, he was still rewarded with a crunching sound, for a moment he puzzled, having felt no pain.

No, the sound had not come from above him, but from underneath his sheets. And uncomfortably close to his rear end.

A quick inspection revealed the presence of several small, rounded, white objects, one of which had been cracked and now leaked a yellowish substance all over the blanket.

One second later, O-Mer awoke to a shriek and, shortly thereafter, a loud _thunk_ as his roommate fell to the floor.

"Da-HAH!" he yelled groggily, pointing a finger at Jinx in triumph. "I can't believe you fell for it!"

"Son of a womp rat!"

"Turnabout is fair play, shmuck!"

"I'll throttle you!"

The girls blinked awake in their bedroom, startled at the commotion. Sipora listened for a moment, shaking her head slowly. "Boyz," she muttered, as she got out of bed and commandeered the 'fresher while her compatriots were occupied in trying their best to kill each other.

Ahsoka, however, lay still for a second, marveling. First, the unguarded outbreak of merriness the other night, and now this? Were these the same solemn, serious young men she had met on Wasskah a month ago? She almost couldn't believe it.

A green fist crashed through the thin wall, right next to her head, astonishing her. There came the sounded of muffled laughter, probably O-Mer's, as Jinx's hand thrashed about in a frantic attempt to free itself.

Ahsoka blinked, and gave herself over into fitful giggles, forgetting her darker musings of before.

Two hours later, she tried to remember the last time she had laughed like that. It felt like she was out of practice, as if she hadn't laughed in…

One month.

The thought completely floored her for a moment, before she put it behind her, it being a remnant of harms inflicted in the past. Trandosha…really didn't agree with her.


	6. Broken

**Just one today, but it's a longer one. I'll be back to my established pattern by tomorrow.**

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><p><em>Broken<em>

The Wookiee funeral custom was, like most Wookiee customs, simple and put together within minutes. Master Plo had told her once that it was because of the very adverse conditions of the Kashyyk ecosystem; burials had to be held quickly and thoroughly so that the stench of a corpse would not attract predators. So, she had expected that the first order of business would be to build a pyre and burn every Trandoshan body and…hunting trophy in the place. Wookiees simply couldn't allow their dead to remain unburied, not even their dead enemies.

Still, she wished that the boys did not have to take part in the ceremony. She felt like they had had enough trial and torment over the past however many years on this Force-forsaken place; they deserved to get away from this ugliness.

She had voiced her concerns to Chewbacca, but he shook his head. _Glass that is not washed breaks easily,_ he said, in a cryptic, poetic fashion that indicated he was quoting some old Wookiee proverb. Ahsoka's knee-jerk reaction might have been to reject the proverb and care for her _men,_ her _soldiers,_ in the way _she_ thought best. But she had been Master Plo Koon's little girl long before she was Anakin's Skywalker's hotheaded child soldier apprentice, and, in the end, the old lesson of listening to Wookiee wisdom held out over the newer one of going her own way.

Though now, she questioned the logic of her decision. Jinx had told her about other Padawans who had come before her - who had died - but she hadn't really thought of their deaths as a real concept until they found one large back room filled to the brim with dozens of Jedi "trophies."

O-Mer went into the room, and, completely defying all stereotypes of Cerean calm, he blanched immediately, and scrambled out into the hallway to retch the nonexistent contents of his hungry stomach onto the floor. Ahsoka looked after him in concern for a moment, but, even before her eyes, the younger boy got over the shock. He wept without shame on the shoulder of a sympathetic Wookiee, and dared not look back at the doorway, but she could feel him eliminating the grief from his system, allowing a proper, Jedi-like calm to take its place.

Jinx, on the other hand…Jinx held his outward calm together by the force of sheer will. He stood, dry-eyed, before the many faces of his dead comrades, and swallowed back the bile that had to be rising in his throat.

And then, in a steady voice, he repeated the tales of horror that he knew. He had only personally met about ten of the cadavers in this chamber during life, but that was enough. A Corellian boy who had openly tried to romance the late Kalifa, who later died protecting her from an ambush. An Arkanian girl, a nature-lover who had enticed a convor to stay near their camp as a pet, who had been skinned while still alive at the age of ten. A Falleen teenager, unfortunate enough to be female and lizard-like enough to attract the interest of every Trandoshan male, dead by…well, he wouldn't describe what had killed her at the age of fifteen. A Zabrak boy, lover of the Falleen girl, driven to the Dark Side by her death and killed while trying to take the entire Trandoshan convoy out in a fit of rage. Kalifa herself, her hide newly-bloodied and still stinking of embalming fluid.

One by one, the horrible stories came out. Jinx did not shed one tear. Nor did he touch the pelts, or acknowledge his connection to any of them verbally.

Ten agonizing minutes of this passed until he finally paused, his eyes fixed upon the remains of a small Nautolan girl, killed when she was perhaps twelve years old. The Twi'lek reached out to touch one thin, shrunken green-brown head-tail on the corpse, but paused, and retracted his hand before he could make contact. He seemed to shrink into himself, biting savagely at one lip when the tears started to come.

Then, when he thought that he had regained his composure, he opened his mouth, as if to speak. The words would not come, and his spirit crumpled even more. Taking quick, halting breaths, he looked around the room, as if seeking some other face he could identify, someone other than this girl who had evidently meant so much to him.

And that's when Ahsoka _saw_ it. He wasn't grieving; he couldn't cleanse himself. His mind, streaked with the pain and tears of half a decade of captivity, was becoming harder, but more brittle. For now, his mind encased his spirit, preventing him from expressing the emotions that clamored to be let out, but the mind wouldn't hold up under the pressure for long. What would become of him after it shattered?

She did not want to find out.

His dark eyes widened in surprise when she touched his shoulder. She didn't give him any more warning than that, but threw her arms around his chest, pressing her cheek to his collarbone. With an effort, she opened up her own mind, letting him feel her spirit, her Force presence. Bolstering the fragile crystalline walls of his spirit with as much _strength_ as she had in her wiry little body, and providing an outlet of _compassion_ and _understanding_ for the emotions he was striving so hard to hide, she closed her eyes and braced herself.

Jinx faltered for a moment, torn; then, slowly, like the rusty old door of a water-gate on a backwoods farm planet, his spirit unlocked, releasing the _anger_ and _resentment_ and _helplessness_ and _despair_ that had built up over so many years on this world. Ahsoka accepted it, her eyes tearing from the effort of taking on so much weight at once; as quickly as was possible, she let it go, pouring it out of her own spirit so that it would not corrupt her like it had him.

Meanwhile, the boy in her arms collapsed, sobbing mutely on her shoulder. He trembled, threatening to fall, and slowly she knelt down, easing him onto the floor.

They sat there for too many minutes to count, both of them too wrapped up in this moment of healing to pay attention to the murmuring Wookiees in the background. She rocked him slowly, like a baby, praying to the Force that what she was doing was right.

Even if it wasn't, this boy, this little man, had suffered too much, had been too strong in the face of all this evil to break down now that he was finally free. She wasn't about to let him do so. She _wasn't._


	7. Icing on the Cake

_Icing on the Cake_

The orders came from the Council itself. Masters Secura and Skywalker, with their respective Padawans, were being paired together for an ultra-secret covert mission on some distant planet in the Outer Rim. The objectives were to identify, infiltrate, and _incinerate_ yet another Separatist super-weapon, said to be able to emit a sound that would drive clones (and just about any other bystander with functional eardrums) irrevocably insane within minutes (effectively proving that whatever scientific minds the Confederacy had could, indeed, come up with more creative ways of killing things than simply trying to blow them all up at once). Oh, and the distant planet in the Outer Rim? Was distant even in Outer Rim terms, right on the edge of the Unknown Regions. And locally famous for its arachnoid predators with as many teeth as they had eyes (and there were a _loooooot_ of eyes).

This was, hands down, _the_ best day in Jinx's life thus far. Much to O-Mer's disturbance, though he wisely said nothing.

What wasn't to like, after all? This was the first _real_ assignment Jinx had had since he got back to civilization. Well, the first real assignment that didn't include some variation of "Go to the dark, dank east wing of the Temple, talk to the creepy psychiatrist whose species is unidentifiable but possessing of too many orifices to be completely natural, and come back when you're somehow feeling saner, if only by comparison." Yeah, chopping clueless droids into pieces and trying to avoid the cold, clammy hands of death was much, _much_ more therapeutic than that, and that was _not_ sarcasm in the slightest.

But the best part of it, the absolute icing on the cake, was the fact that he would get to see Ahsoka again.

Not that he hadn't seen her in the six months since Wasskah. There'd been two intervals of a few days, when she was not going on missions with her Master and he was not in a self-induced catatonia in the day or so after each therapy session. There also was the occasional conference call, when both of them happened to be working different aspects of the same mission and were able to offer a few pointers.

This was going to be a more extended period of time, so they could have real conversations, instead of the small chats he had been able to steal thus far. And it would start as soon as he and Aayla's starfighters docked in the Resolute's hangar.

He was whistling when he got out of the cockpit, walking jauntily and smiling as he went through his post-flight checklist. He didn't even notice her until she was right behind him.

"Hello, Jinx, how are you?"

The boy turned…and stopped. Ahsoka had grown a little since they last saw each other. Her montrals were a slight bit taller, and had gained just a little more curve. Her lekku hung lower, a good twenty centimeters past her shoulders now. It was a very subtle change, and she probably hadn't even noticed it in the mirror, but it was quite becoming. Quite distracting, really, and…oh, frotz, he _had_ to pull himself back together again before she walked away.

"Uh…h-hi. Good, how are you?"

She rolled her eyes just a little, but smiled knowingly, as if she got this a lot. He didn't doubt it.

Oh, yes, seeing Ahsoka again was _definitely_ the best part of this.

Aayla, quietly observing from the other side of the hangar, sighed sadly. It was probably time to have that Talk with her Padawan. It could wait until morning, however.


	8. Foreign Language

**Two more today. Enjoy!**

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><p><em>A Foreign Language<em>

"So, uh, you never told me about how you know Shyriiwook." Jinx pointed out, trying not to betray his growing discomfort at his situation. What was wrong with him? He'd reverted to the point in his elocution lessons where the word "uh" made at least one appearance in each sentence, and he couldn't seem to figure out anything to say that didn't sound completely lame.

Ahsoka didn't seem to notice, however. She sat across the table from him in the Resolute's mess hall, enjoying her lunch, like he was trying to do. "Master Plo was trained by a Wookiee Master when he was a Padawan," she said with a shrug. "I met a lot of his friends growing up."

The mess hall was _crowded_ with clones; more than he thought were supposed to be there at this time, in the middle of the afternoon shift, with no changing of the guard imminent. It could be just the lingering after-effects of Wasskah making him paranoid, but Jinx was fairly certain that he was being watched. Closely. With the gimlet eye that Commander Bly had been wont to unleash on grabby Twi'lek males when Aayla was assisting the Ryloth relief effort two months back.

"Do you know any other languages?" Ahsoka asked, getting the conversation started again. She looked so _innocent_ sitting there, completely unaware that about thirty of the galaxy's finest soldiers were staring at her rather possessively.

"Actually, I'm beginning to think my, uh, 'native' language is a foreign language," he supplied, suppressing a shudder at the cold glance of one particularly "inquisitive" clone. He did not add that _Basic_ was beginning to feel like a foreign language as well around her, due to the fact that he _really_ did not want to die at the hands of an impromptu firing squad. That, and it would be embarrassing to admit such a thing in front of a pretty girl, but the firing squad threat was much more intimidating.

She smiled. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. I went to Ryloth, and I found out that they, uh, _we_ call our lekku 'tchun-tchin.' _Tchun_ for left," he said, moving the corresponding lekku, "and _tchin_ for right. I got a lot of weird looks when I said 'my left tchun-tchin.'"

That comment brought out a laugh. Success! "I feel the same way on Shili. They don't generally say _lekku_ for these," she said, gesturing at the long, beautiful head tails that rested on her shoulders. "I forget the word they use…_monpleki_, that's it."

"What happened when you used _lekku_?"

Those beautiful blue eyes lit up in amusement as the memory came back. "They didn't stare or anything, but a lot of the little girls got it into their heads that I had married a Twi'lek. I still can't figure out _how._"

The clones' attention became even more fixated than before, and the feeling of sixty eyes on him ceased to be merely uncomfortable and became truly frightening. "Good thing _that_ hasn't happened, right?" he said in a shaky voice, a bit louder than necessary.

Ahsoka looked at him oddly, but before she could inquire as to what was wrong with him (_Good question!_) another clone entered the mess, one whose blue-streaked armor bore officer's stripes.

"Torrent Company! Report to the bridge, General Skywalker's got a mission for us."

With a flurry of yes-sirs and brisk salutes, each and every one of the clones filed out of the mess in a hurry. _Saved by the bell..._

Well, the "bell" had the unfortunate side effect of calling Ahsoka away, since she _was_ commander of Torrent Company. "No time to call us on the comm, Rex?" she asked as she walked through the door.

"I received the order as I was coming to the mess, Commander, nothing more."

With little more than a soft hum and a mildly suspicious glance, she let the matter pass.

Captain Rex lingered a moment after her. Catching Jinx's eye, he removed his helmet with his left hand. Making a V of the pointer and middle fingers of his right, he gestured to his eyes, then at Jinx's head. Wordlessly, he replaced his HUD and walked out.

Jinx gulped. Sure, Twi'leki was a bit of a stretch for him anymore these days, but clone body language read loud and clear.

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><p><strong>This <em>was<em> supposed to just include the conversation about Shyriiwook and other things, but Rex and Torrent Company demanded an appearance. Ah, the clone expression of brotherhood: "Break her heart and I'll break your _face_, kid." Gotta love 'em.**

**Oh, and "monpleki" is a term I invented. It isn't canon; canon calls Togruta head-tail thingies "lekku." Which doesn't make sense, given they are two different species, hence the reason I invented the term...**


	9. Heartless

**A much longer snippet, dealing with Jinx's life while still on Wasskah. Beware of violence, both verbal and physical.**

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><p><em>Heartless<em>

It was night on this particular hemisphere of the Trandoshan moon called Wasskah, and the terrain was about as peaceful as it would ever get, humming with the tranquil white noise of nocturnal wildlife. Light reflected off the planet and its other moon, Akoshissss, gently illuminated the jungle of Island Four, the effect being comparable to the "blue hour" after twilight, only more long-term. The two small beings who trudged as quickly as possible through the overgrown underbrush weren't in the mood to look at the beautiful scenery, however.

Lorelei wasn't fighting him tonight, not yet anyway. Jinx praised the Force for small blessings, though he kept a firm grip on his companion's webbed hand in case she changed her mind. There was no mistaking the wistful look in the Nautolan girl's black eyes as she looked back every now and again, in the direction of the beach from which he was leading her away.

The Twi'lek bit his lip, strangling the only curse word he knew before it could come out of his mouth. Lorelei hadn't been the same since the day he, she, and the other three younglings captured from Eagle Clan had been released on this island. Most of the time – which quickly degenerated into _all_ of the time – she was off in her own little world, unable to speak or even understand Basic, and singing softly to herself in her odd, halting native language. She looked at the sea with a passionate longing by day, and frequently tried to escape to it at night, when her friends were less likely to chase her, unaware of the danger from which they were trying to protect her.

Anya, who, he was told, had had some healing training before her Master was killed and she was brought here, told him that it had something to do with the concave, ugly-looking wound on Lorelei's head, received when she landed wrong on the beach the very night they were brought here. The Falleen had promised him she would do her best to cure his friend, little as her best might be. Despite the objections of Noric, the group's leader and Anya's one attachment, the older girl had worked with Lorelei every night from then on, trying to at least prevent her from worsening.

But Anya was…gone, now, and Lorelei was getting worse by the minute.

As was Noric.

The Zabrak boy stood at the doorway to their camp, his arms crossed, and anger emanating from him in waves. Jinx stopped short upon seeing him, his limited vocabulary of profanity almost coming up again, like last night's frugal dinner. He'd hoped to get back before Noric could awake and notice they were gone; he shouldn't have underestimated the teenager's senses like that.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by Lorelei's humming. "Another midnight swim?" Noric inquired, keeping his voice soft and almost friendly.

The younger boy swallowed, and nodded. There was no point in lying; both his and Lorelei's robes were wet, since he'd had to wade out into the water to fetch her. Of all the nights he had to fall asleep when it was his turn to watch her…

"You know, one of these days, you and she are going to lead the hunters right to our camp," the older boy continued, the friendliness in his voice escalating to the point of being creepy. "Which is why I told you last time that if she ever did it again, she wasn't coming back."

There was a stir of movement from behind Noric…one of the other children had heard the quiet confrontation from outside. Jinx hoped it was one of the Eagle Clan younglings, or perhaps Kalifa; if it was Polara, the Wroonian girl who now served as Noric's second in command, he was not going to have any backup on this.

"Her escape tonight was my fault, Noric. I promise it won't happen again." He made sure to look into the older boy's eyes when he said this, so that his _promise_ wouldn't be dismissed as simple deferral to the authority of the only remaining Padawan on the island.

Noric chuckled bitterly. "You're damn right it won't happen again. Leave her."

It was, without a doubt, a death sentence. There was no way Lorelei could survive out there alone, all of them knew that. There were no other groups to join, for strength in numbers; non-Force sensitives got killed off fast. Like it or not, the crazy, twisted Noric and his tribe, who had survived longer than anyone in this awful place, were Lorelei's only chance of survival.

"Leave her," the Zabrak repeated, allowing a touch of iron to color his words a bit more. "It's obvious that she wants to die; let her. We don't need her slowing us down."

Jinx bristled. "She doesn't want to die, she wants the sea! She did the same things when she first came to the Temple!" He knew that because he grew up with her, but Noric always refused to believe him.

"You're full of it."

"I'm not coming back without her."

"Fine. Then we'll be rid of both the retards."

That word was not technically profanity, but in Jinx's book, it should have been. He clenched his fists, but tried to breathe slowly nonetheless. At this point, there was only one way to get Lorelei back into the group. He wasn't looking forward to it, but he had to do it, since he was the oldest member of Eagle Clan. It was his responsibility to take care of them, _all_ of them, and that was what he'd do.

"You were supposed to be a Jedi," he hissed, aiming for the last remaining soft spot Noric had after Anya's death: his considerable pride. "Jedi defend the weak and the powerless. How can you call yourself a Padawan when you don't even try to do that?"

Noric's orange, un-tattooed lip twisted in an expression that tried to pass as humor. "I _am_ doing what Jedi do. I'm leaving helpless little kids to die alone in this place."

Jinx nodded, forcing an expression of dawning realization onto his face and mimicking the creepy friendly tone Noric had used. "Oh, I guess you're right. Your Master _did_ abandon you, didn't he?"

The statement wasn't true, and Jinx knew it, probably because he had one last feeble bit of faith left in his heart. Noric didn't have that luxury. He stiffened, his poisonous green eyes doing their best to bore holes into the Twi'lek's forehead. Jinx felt the cold _shock_ hate had in the Force, but willed himself not to shudder. Noric only thought in survivalist, militant terms now; winning a fight against him was the one long shot Lorelei had at living. He couldn't win if he allowed the older boy to undermine his resolve.

With a dismissive shrug, Jinx smiled ruefully, delivering the punch line. "And who can blame him? It's obvious that a heartless monster like you was never Jedi material."

Noric was upon him before he even felt him move, throwing a blind haymaker at his head with an anguished snarl. Jinx had no time to duck, and he fell back a few steps, dazed. The Zabrak didn't let up, however, throwing blow after vicious blow at the smaller boy without mercy, giving him no opening to counterattack. He ended up backed against the trunk of the tree right next to the Jedi camp, Noric's big hands encircling his throat. As his vision started to darken, Jinx's only regret was that the younger kids no longer had anyone who would stand up for them.

And then, a fisted hand came down on the base of Zabrak's neck, eliciting a pained grunt. Noric released Jinx, who fell to the large branch beneath their feet, coughing and holding his injured throat. O-Mer, who had delivered the blow, backed up in shock at Noric's rage, but Jinx managed to kick out at the older boy's knee, tripping him.

O-Mer took advantage of Noric's prone position at once, straddling his chest and pounding relentlessly at his face. After about ten punches, the Zabrak threw the younger boy off of him with the Force. The Cerean nearly fell off of the branch, clutching at a fragile handful of moss at the last moment. Noric stood and tried to step on O-Mer's fingers, but was nearly unbalanced when a weight descended upon his back.

The Twi'lek boy sat on the Noric's shoulders, delivering blow after blow to the neck, avoiding the head and the vestigial horns. The Zabrak reached up and grabbed Jinx's right lekku, squeezing hard. Jinx screamed, and let go, but managed to get a hit on Noric's exposed armpit through the Force.

With a grunt, Noric tried to attack again, but turned his back on O-Mer. Gripping the branch as tightly as he could, the Cerean punched the air through the Force, aiming for the sensitive spot between Noric's legs. He had started the dirty fighting by targeting Jinx's lekku; O-Mer finished it without hesitation.

Jinx stood, preparing for another attack once the older boy recovered. A quick glance back at camp showed that the rest of the children were up, with Kalifa and Polara holding the two younger children back so they would not join the fight. Lorelei had helped O-Mer back up onto the branch, and the Cerean boy stood ready, so that Noric was flanked on both sides by his opponents. Even the reckless Zabrak thought twice before striking again.

But only twice. Upon laying his eyes on Lorelei where she stood next to O-Mer, he lost whatever control he had had. "You killed her!" he bellowed, charging toward the Nautolan. "You killed her you little…"

"Enough."

Noric stopped in his tracks, holding his neck and standing on tiptoes, as if someone was strangling him. All the younglings, even Lorelei, blinked collectively, and turned around, back toward the camp entrance.

Kalifa stood solidly on the branch, her hand extended toward Noric. "Get behind me," she ordered the younglings, without taking her eyes off the older boy. "Go back, get some sleep."

Hesitantly, they did as asked, with O-Mer taking the lead, his hand on Lorelei's back to prevent her from running off again. On their way, they passed Polara, whose blue jaw was agape at the nerve of Kalifa, the next lowest on the experiential totem pole besides the five members of Eagle Clan, who were tied for last. Jinx paused by her side, looking back through puffy, swollen eyes to see what the human girl would do.

Kalifa made a slight motion with her hand, pushing Noric until his back was against the tree-trunk in the same way he had held Jinx a few moments ago. She let him linger there, her grip strangling but not deadly, her amber eyes regarding the boy coldly.

"The Nautolan stays."

And then she let him go, turning her back on him without another word. Jinx, awed, almost, by the simple way Kalifa had just taken power, obeyed her repeated order to go back inside without question. Polara cast a glance back at the defeated Noric, but wordlessly did the same.

Noric chose to stay away. Later, they discovered a clearing in the jungle, where trees had been ripped up by their roots with the Force and two Trandoshan speeders had been crushed. There was both Trandoshan and Zabrak blood in that clearing, as well as the imprint of bodies. But the site had already been cleaned of any "trophies."

Jinx studied the site, but did not cry over it. He did not regret the night he confronted Noric. However, the day Lorelei finally died, despite the lengths he had gone to in saving her, he secretly wondered if he had not been as heartless as he had accused the other boy of being.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, I figured you might want to know a little bit more about that girl Jinx cried over in Broken.<strong>

**I will probably deal more with this part of Jinx's life in future snippets. For now, you may speculate at the identities, personalities, and fates of the other younglings as you wish. At this point, I'm doing that myself in many cases.**


	10. Missing You

_Missing You_

The ARC trooper known as Fives was technically Jinx's subordinate, at least according to the rules of the GAR. However, as Ahsoka had advised him prior to his first mission with the clones, experience outranked everything. He accepted that maxim willingly; especially when the mission against the new Separatist ear-popper-thingy-ma-bob went awry, leaving Jinx and his squad of clones lost and separated from the main company. Fives found them and easily took over, and Jinx had no objections at _all_.

When evening came, they made camp until they could be found, or at least contact their Masters or the rest of the 501st. Using the Force, Jinx's inborn Twi'lek knowledge of caves, and (most effectively) blasters to find a suitably arachnoid-free cavern to hide in, they rolled out their bedrolls, and took turns keeping watch throughout the night, two by two.

Jinx got paired with Fives for the last watch, which passed in tranquility, which was unexpected given that Fives had been one of the clones glaring at the new kid forebodingly in the mess hall. To Jinx's minor chagrin, the ARC didn't even seem willing to talk; in fact, he'd seemed quiet before in the mess, sitting alone, and looking carefully neutral. Much like he acted now, only now the sadness was a bit more detectable.

The Twi'lek wanted to ask what was wrong, but decided against it. Grief was personal, and he didn't want to intrude. So, the hours until dawn passed in silence.

As soon as the distant red giant sun came over the horizon, though, they both started talking at once. "_Ni su'cuyi, gar…_"

They broke off, staring in equal astonishment at each other, before continuing. "_…Gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum._"

Fives motioned for Jinx to go first, still staring incredulously at the young Padawan. Jinx, in his turn, cleared his throat nervously, and started.

"Pelo."

"Droidbait," Fives supplied, after a moment's hesitation from the kid.

"Narya."

"Cutup."

"…Lorelei." Her name stuck in Jinx's throat, as it always had. It was getting easier to say though, day by day.

Fives continued as if he had barely noticed. "Hevy."

"Kalifa."

Then it was Fives' turn to pause, the pain still fresh on his face. "…Echo."

They were the names of the dead, recited in the order they had died, as was custom. Fives and Jinx stared for a moment, then, when no more names came forth, the trooper broke the silence.

"Natal squad?"

The Twi'lek assumed that meant "youngling Clan," and nodded, swallowing at the lump in his throat. "Most of them." Only Kalifa had not belonged to Eagle Clan. "You?"

"Yeah." Fives nodded quietly. "You...know the daily remembrance?"

"A brother from the 327th taught me," Jinx replied, remembering Commander Bly's compassion fondly. "I caught him saying it one morning, and asked what it meant."

"'I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you…'"

"'…so you are eternal,' yes. I learned it because it made things…easier."

He didn't explain why it made things easier. Saying the Mandalorian daily remembrance was more real, more tangible to Jinx than simply believing that his friends lived on through the Force, like the Jedi taught. They had just been too important for him to leave their fates up to the Force, which, in his experience, had been fickle and untrustworthy.

Yes, it was probably attachment. Yes, he would, sooner or later, have to face up to the fact that his friends had died and there was nothing he could do about it. But he wasn't ready yet. The daily remembrance helped him hang on in some small way, and still feel useful to his friends, without spending time in denial as to their deaths, as he had for so long with Lorelei.

Fives understood that without question. He nodded curtly, giving Jinx a pat on the shoulder, conferring just a tad bit of _strength_ through the Force without even realizing he did so.

_Thank the Force for good, brave men such as this one_, thought Jinx, not even dreaming that Fives was thinking the same thing.

* * *

><p><strong>Fives was being relatively more friendly because Ahsoka wasn't anywhere near that camp. It'll probably be business as usual once they get back. Poor Jinx.<strong>

**And, yes, Echo does die in this continuity. My fellow Echo fans, you have my deepest condolences.**


	11. Best Friends

_Best Friends_

Jinx hadn't adjusted very quickly to Temple life when he arrived on Coruscant at age three, as O-Mer recalled. There hadn't been any tears or tantrums, like with some of the other younglings they knew. He'd just retreated to the most isolated bed in the dormitory, curling up in the corner so that no one else could see him suffer.

But O-Mer had seen it, and took the bed next to him.

_Do you miss your mommy?_

…_Yeah._

…_Me too._

Jinx would take things personally during lessons; even a small reproach from Yoda would leave him practicing for an hour or so after class, trying to correct his mistake. He always made sure to practice alone, looking mortified if another Jedi infringed on his alone time.

Except when O-Mer was there.

_Try bending your knee, like this. It makes it easier for me._

…_Hey, you're right! Thanks!_

_No prob._

Jinx retreated into himself one day on Wasskah, _that_ day, when Lorelei disappeared and they both felt her presence leave that horrible place. He didn't weep, or let anger consume him, but he did find an isolated little nook in their camp and start sleeping there instead of by the fire.

O-Mer had been afraid of losing two close friends in quick succession that time.

_It's not your fault, Jinx._

…

_She never would have blamed you._

…

_Please, don't do this. You're not the only one who loved her, you know._

…_I know._

…

…_Go to sleep, O-Mer. You'll need to keep moving tomorrow._

Jinx was keeping his distance from Ahsoka. He avoided looking at her, refused to meet her eyes, and never referred to her by name, preferring "Padawan" instead. Yet, his first instinct had been to rush and warn her as soon as the Trandoshan transport they were attacking started its descent to the ground.

Ahsoka was under the impression that he didn't like her. O-Mer knew better.

Jinx put distance between himself and the things that made him uncomfortable. Love, in all its forms, was now a touchy subject for him, and therefore an uncomfortable thing. And judging by the way Jinx stared at Ahsoka whenever she wasn't looking, O-Mer could definitely tell what his friend's feelings for her were. The fight over their means of escape was Jinx's excuse for remaining "unattached" to her.

They relaxed quietly in their camp, awaiting daylight, when it would be time to move again. The Trandoshan prisoner was asleep, though fitfully so; O-Mer relaxed against the wall beneath Jinx's alcove, listening to Ahsoka and the Wookiee's muttered conversation as they continued to work on the transmitter, even though it was only Plan B now. Jinx was pretending to sleep, and doing miserably at it.

"You could, you know, try and talk to her. It's not like she bites or anything."

"…Shut up."

The Cerean smirked, as his friend turned so that his back was to him. Jinx could lie to himself, and do pretty well at it, but, try as he might, he could never lie to O-Mer.


	12. Brother, Oh My Brother

**Another two, at last! Hopefully I'll be able to get another two up tomorrow morning.**

**This one took some time, as the prompt looked like the title of a song, but, for the life of me, I couldn't find one that really fit Jinx's relationship with anyone. So I made it a bromance piece between Jinx and O-Mer; it might be deviating just a bit from the prompt, but I tried to make it fit okay.**

* * *

><p><em>Brother, Oh My Brother<em>

It was the day both of them had been awaiting for a long time. The Council had deemed them both suitable of becoming Padawans, an unexpected event that probably had less to do with the will of the Force than with the steadily dwindling numbers of experienced Jedi during the war. Now, both of them got to leave Coruscant on their first one-on-one experiences with their Masters. Just peaceful negotiation trips, but, according to the Council, they were no less important to the war than leading troops into battle. O-Mer agreed, of course; Jinx still hankered for something more action-filled. But neither of them was complaining about the fact that the Council trusted them enough to go on missions.

Yet, overjoyed as they were, when it came down to the actual hour O-Mer left (with Jinx's departure two hours to come), the boys were at a loss.

"So…where're you headed?" Jinx said, rubbing the back of his neck as they loitered in the hangar.

"Centerpoint Station. There's some sort of dispute between Talus and Tralus. Master Veila's from Tralus, so he knows the area fairly well." O-Mer shrugged a bit there, for not much reason at all besides the nervous need to move a bit. "You?"

The Twi'lek kicked languidly at the floor, trying to look casual. "Ryloth. Master Secura's not looking forward to it, though. 'Too many presumptuous males,' she says."

"Well, that's true no matter where she goes."

"Heh, yeah."

Centerpoint Station, of the Corellian System on the Inner Rim. Ryloth, of the Outer Rim. The shortest possible distance between the two points was at least a thousand parsecs. Not too much a distance for a Jedi with much experience travelling the stars, but for two boys who had spent every waking moment within whispering distance of each other for more than a decade, the future space between them seemed infinite.

The significance of that fact hit them at the same time, and their eyes shot to the floor. They didn't voice any of the loneliness and fear they both felt. No use being overly sentimental about such things, which would soon become so little in the long run.

Their thoughts, however, turned to late-night whispering in the dormitories when they couldn't sleep, learning the lightsaber side-by-side in Yoda's classroom, and eager anticipating when it was announced that Eagle Clan would take that fateful training mission. They came to think in tandem on Trandosha, so much so that they could almost read each other's minds. They had grown together, laughed together, fought for life together. They had a bond that none of the other captive Padawans could replicate or even, sometimes, understand.

What now was supposed to happen to that bond?

"All right, O-Mer, hurry it up," called Master Veila as he entered the hangar, tying his long blonde hair into a messy ponytail as he walked. "Time to get this show on the road."

The boys blinked, their mutual reverie broken by the human man's words. O-Mer nodded his acknowledgment to his master, and then met Jinx's eyes, smiling softly. He clasped the other boy's arm at the elbow, a gesture Jinx returned quietly.

"Until we meet again," the Cerean murmured. Then, breaking away, he ascended the steps to his vessel's cockpit, beginning the start-up sequence.

The Twi'lek watched in silence as O-Mer's fighter hummed to life, holding up a hand in farewell just before it took off. He gazed out at the Coruscant skyline a few moments after the fighters were gone from sight.

He wasn't worried. O-Mer could take care of himself, he knew. But...well, he'd never anticipated that they'd ever be separated by anything but death.

Yet…

Struck with a sudden burst of inspiration, Jinx closed his eyes, meditating. There was a part of his heart that belonged to O-Mer, and upon looking there, he saw the connection the Force had in that spot, a deceptively tiny string which held with the fragile strength of a spider's web. Following it up to O-Mer's retreating cockpit, he could feel the Cerean's twin hearts beating there, almost, but not quite, in tandem with his own heart. He tugged gently on it, a friendly reminder that he was still there, equivalent with a brotherly punch to the shoulder.

The two of them grinned simultaneously. They would always be inseparable; growing up only meant they could be more creatively so.

* * *

><p><strong>Cookies to any Star Wars geek who recognizes O-Mer's Master, or rather, his name. He <em>is<em> in canon, but only marginally so. Therefore, he's mostly mine. Yay!**


	13. Death

_Death_

_The kid's grown to be pretty tall._

ST-5052 felt like an idiot. Here he was, confronting a known aggressor against the Rep…Empire, standing between the Twi'lek and the landing platform which held his only means of escape, and pointing a blaster at him, for hells' sakes. But, instead of the justified satisfaction he was supposed to have at getting rid of this criminal, all he could feel was pride. And regret. And...

_No. Not love. Never again._

Yet, there was something about the way the target held himself. His back was straight and his shoulders were squared, in a position that managed to look strong without being haughty. His expression was carefully neutral and paradoxically compassionate at the same time. His lekku, tattooed and wrapped lightly in traditional linen dressings in an attempt to conceal his identity, squirmed a little as his brown eyes flicked over the trooper's shoulder to look wistfully at the transport beyond. Still, he did not run, but gazed at the emotionless eyes of the detestable, unmarked new Phase II HUD evenly and without judgment. Almost like…

_She's dead. You killed her. Just like you're going to kill him. Mission accomplished._

"Bly."

5052 started. _Not…fair. That name no longer has any meaning…_

"_Bly_, look at me."

The trooper found himself obeying, despite himself. Names had always been important for the kid. He spoke them rarely, and only when the beings to which they belonged broke through his considerably tough shell. When he did speak them, he pronounced them with reverence, like they were sacred. When he didn't, he remembered them. New members of the 327th who hadn't even met him yet had stared in consternation when, on the battlefield, he suddenly addressed them by their nickname, like a brother would.

5052 stared in the same confusion now as the target slowly retrieved an old and battered piece of flimsi from one fold of his head covering, then held it out, offering for him to take it.

"I tried to write them all down," the Twi'lek said, as 5052 hesitantly took the flimsi without taking his sights off of his target's forehead. "The list is complete up until Felucia. I'll let you fill in the blanks."

The HUD remained emotionless, impersonal, and detached. The man inside could feel the tears gathering in his eyes as he read the names – the _names_, not the numbers – of every brother felled after the kid joined the company on that mission to Ryloth, in strict chronological order.

_He got them all. Every single one. Even _I_ didn't know some of these names._

"You still say the remembrance?" the trooper asked, forcing the words out of a tight throat, which the cruel voice modulator failed to pick up on.

The kid nodded, somehow understanding his emotions anyway. _Frakking Jedi magic._

An alarm in 5052's bucket reminded him of the progress of the rest of his unit, whom Ji…the target had managed to lose in a marketplace ten minutes ago. The maneuver had been so expertly done that only 5052, who had been separated from the rest but also knew this trick all too well, had been the only one to catch on to it. But it was still just a trick. It was only meant to gain time, and that time was starting to run out.

5052 swallowed. _This mission had looked so easy on paper…_

With a growl, he lowered his deece and took a quick step around the kid, shoving the flimsi back into one green hand as he did so. "_You_ fill in the blanks," he muttered.

Then, he went down on one knee, aiming his blaster at the end of the alleyway, where his brothers would make their entrance any moment.

That was supposed to be the end of the conversation, but the kid did not leave right away. There was a stir of motion that filtered through the bucket's sound amplifiers, and a hand came down gently on his shoulder.

"Come with us."

"_No._ Hurry up and leave."

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the clipped voices coming in through the comm. He suspected the kid wanted him to turn around, but he wouldn't. His decision was made.

"She forgave you, you know. Even before she…"

"I know she did. I _didn't._ Get _moving_."

The hand retracted. _Kid always did respect the command voice_. Footsteps that were Jedi-soft rang out in the direction of the transport. He could have sworn he heard a faint, whispered "good-bye," but he didn't let himself dwell on it.

Clone Commander Bly settled calmly into his position, and waited.

* * *

><p>Jinx sat at the controls of the old transport, his eyes closed in meditation. He looked at his heart, listening to the thrum of each and every little string that connected it to someone else. So very many were silent, now; none of them were ever truly severed, but the strings could not sing their song without a beating heart to pull on them. Now another heart was silenced, its string leading off into whatever was in store for it on the other side.<p>

With a steady hand, he opened the beaten little scrap of flimsi and carefully inscribed one more name.

The hyperdrive alarm sounded, indicating his arrival at the Belsavis system. The double suns were just ahead, illuminating the cockpit softly from their distance of just a couple of parsecs. Not quite a sunrise, but it was good enough.

"_Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum._ Ryma gesu'tak allesh, nerra'pika. Arni'soyacho."

* * *

><p><strong>The Twi'leki translates roughly to: "Mother (the Twi'lek goddess) give you safety, dear brother. I thank you with all of my heart." The source is a Twi'lek lexicon and dictionary linked on Wookieepedia.<strong>


	14. Crushing vs Love

**Two more, at long last!**

* * *

><p><em>Crushing vs. Love<em>

At the age of eight and one-half standard years, Jin'Xerquina had his first encounter with romantic affection.

Her name was Xiaana'Mersu, which meant "perseverant spider" in Twi'leki and suited her much better than the clunky Basic "Xiaan Amersu," "solid spider." She was three years his senior, tall, slender, and graceful even for a girl of their species. She worked as his tutor for their Twi'leki class, but he could barely concentrate on his lessons, focused as he was on her clear turquoise skin and intelligent blue eyes. He excelled in the class, however, because he studied thoroughly each night, giving up on precious hours of sleep, just to impress her.

His instructors looked upon his affection as something he would grow out of as soon as Xiaan was apprenticed, but assigned him a different tutor to make sure. He pooh-poohed their misguided attempt to separate true love, and made sure to surprise Xiaan with a hand-picked flower from the Temple gardens at each lesson.

His friends teased him a little for it; he responded in kind, pointing out Lorelei's suspicious eyelid-fluttering in the presence of one Knox from Roaring Lion Clan, or O-Mer's steady blush that appeared whenever one of Master Ki-Adi-Mundi's daughters visited the Temple.

Xiaan herself tried to dissuade him of the notion, reminding him that attachment was against the Code. He listened to her, a little, but remained convinced that, Code or no Code, someday they would get married, have children, and be co-Grand Masters of the High Council together.

Then Xiaan became apprenticed to Master J'Mikel, and, for a time, he rarely saw her. Years later, he went on a training mission with four of his Clan-mates, and, for a time, he _never_ saw her. Even more years later, he disembarked from a ship that belonged to a sympathetic band of bounty hunters, and saw her for the first time in what seemed like forever, waiting amidst a crowd of spectators to welcome the lost Padawans home.

"Hello, Jinx," she said softly, her big blue eyes sad and nostalgic.

"Hi," he replied.

There was a pause, as she searched for a conversation topic. "So, uh…how are you doing with your Twi'leki?" She winced, probably thinking that it was a stupid thing to ask, since he had definitely had no opportunity to practice his native language during his incarceration.

He saw the question for what it was – just a simple effort to get some small talk started – and shrugged. "Not very well."

She gave a tentative smile. "I could tutor you, if you want."

He tried to smile back, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'd like that," he said, nodding to emphasize that he really _would_ like that, and his lack of enthusiasm was just…baggage, nothing more.

Her smile blossomed into a grin, in a display of pure white teeth that would have dazzled him when he was eight. "Good."

"Good." He tried to find more words, but they weren't coming. Everything seemed so unreal, now; a part of his mind was still certain he would wake up any moment with the familiar crick in his neck that came from sleeping in a tree root.

So he let the awkward silence pass, studying a crack on the stone landing pad and unconsciously seeking out another girl's voice in the crowd.

* * *

><p><strong>Xiaan is a canon character from the comic books. I'm not quite sure if she's supposed to be dead yet in TCW, but the girl who is talking to Jinx at the end of "Wookiee Hunt" looks a lot like her.<strong>


	15. Love vs ObsessionAttachment

_Love vs. Attachment/Obsession_

"Aayla? You and Master Fisto, ah…you, uh, you love each other. Right?"

His master stared at him from across the room, completely dumbfounded. Jinx winced a little in sympathy; he'd decided to talk to her during her morning meditation, which was pretty much the only time they were guaranteed a little privacy on this ship of half a thousand brothers. But, convenience aside, it was probably a little surreal to start talking about something like this right after she woke up.

After a few blinks to get the surprise out of her system, Aayla gestured for him to sit down in front of her. He obeyed, settling his legs into the familiar lotus position, and waited for her to…say something, he wasn't sure what.

It took a while for her to respond. She opened her mouth, reconsidered, closed it, opened it again, frowned, closed it again. His wince grew more pronounced with each of her movements, until finally he tried to restart the conversation again because he couldn't _stand_ it anymore.

Maybe she was surprised because she thought he didn't know? "I _do_ know about Master Fisto," he ventured, trying not to sound accusing, because he didn't believe it was wrong, per se. Good Force, this was awkward.

"I know you know." Of course she did. Aayla wasn't clueless; she knew he could read lekku fairly well, if not perfectly. She'd never been outright blatant, but he'd still been able to pick up on the relationship, which meant she probably wasn't trying to hide it too much.

Now, she cringed guiltily, bracing herself for…what? "I wasn't quite sure how to talk to you about it."

"Me neither."

Well…_that_ got it out in the open. Good. Except this wasn't the conversation that he had wanted to have.

"So, uh…how do you, uh…keep it from going bad?"

She stared at him again, uncomprehending. "Um…well…how do you keep it from turning into attachment?"

She continued staring at him, this time in unguarded amazement. "Because love and attachment aren't…the same things…" he trailed off, feeling rather put on the spot.

"…This is about Ahsoka?"

"…Is it that obvious?"

Aayla gnawed on one lip, nodding hesitantly. Jinx felt his lekku start to twist in embarrassment as he began to kick himself mentally.

"I should have known. Does Master Skywalker know about it?"

"Skywalker doesn't know. He's rather, preoccupied, these days."

"Okay, good, that's…good. 'Cause the clones can see it, and they think I'll end up hurting her, and the last thing I need is _him_ glaring at me in the mess hall, too…"

"Wait," Aayla said, holding up a hand. "Back up. What was that about the clones?"

"…They were glaring at me in the mess hall?"

"No, before that. The part about hurting her."

"Hence the glaring."

"Yes, but that scares you. Not the glaring," she clarified with a hand gesture, "but the thought of hurting her. Why?"

The younger Twi'lek sat back for a second, the import of his master's words halting the whirl of emotion that had held his mind captive for the past few days. Images from Wasskah, which he had finally managed to put behind him for the past few months, were starting to come unbidden to the forefront of his mind.

Aayla's face was all compassion as she gently prodded his mind. _You _can_ talk to me about it..._

Jinx wavered, then, with a sigh, he conceded. "There were two Padawans on the island who were, eh, _close_," he said, aware of the fact that his voice was completely devoid of emotion even as his mind reeled. "It wasn't good for them, because, well, it had never really been about _them_. It was about _him_ and _her_, mostly about him. They just…took, and took and took, and every day they sapped the strength from each other until there was nothing left. In the end, it destroyed them."

"…And that scares you?"

He swallowed; his throat was suddenly dry as his eyes refocused on the present.

"Why?"

His hand wanted to clench into a fist, but he didn't let it. Anger could not be allowed to define him anymore. "Because I don't want what I have for her to become what I saw." The very thought of it made him shudder. "She doesn't deserve that."

As soon as he said it, he grimaced as he saw his presumption. Ahsoka did not know what he felt for her, and probably didn't feel even remotely the same way. Even if she did, she was too strong to let what happened to Anya and Noric happen to her.

He knew that, and yet he knew Anya and Noric had been strong too, once. _Jinx_ had been strong, once; he didn't think he was anymore. If affection…if _love_ ever came to fruition between him and his fellow Padawan, he could depend on Ahsoka's considerable emotional strength, but all it really took for that to disappear was one truly hellish day, and those were commonplace during this time of war. If he loved her, he'd have to be able to draw strength from the Force on his own, so he could be there for her if she ever faltered and not be another burden for her.

He looked his master in the eye; trying to mimic the raw determination he so admired about Ahsoka and feeling like he failed miserably. "Real love has to be grounded in something deeper than emotion. I want to love like you and Master Fisto. You _give_."

Aayla considered his words carefully, never breaking eye contact. Then, her lips twitched into a smile, and he belatedly realized that she had once again coaxed his thoughts around on themselves, helping him to find his own answers.

"You already give, Jinx. You just doubt your own unselfishness."

The apprentice stared in consternation at the master; they had come full circle. Jinx smiled in awe at the beauty of it, before giving her a playful frown of frustration. "This is all well and good, Aayla, but couldn't you give me a straight-up answer for once?"

She grinned. "You want advice? Loving someone requires the same virtues that being a Jedi does: patience, courage, and sometimes bloody-minded stubbornness. Two of those you have in abundance."

"Gee. Thanks."

* * *

><p>"How did the mission go?" asked Master Fisto, a couple of days after Jinx and Aayla's conversation. They were making a short pit stop on his flagship; apparently one of those creepy spider-things with the eyes and the teeth had settled into the engine of Aayla's fighter and started a family. Fun.<p>

"Very well, thank you," Aayla replied, her half-grin more openly flirtatious than usual.

Master Fisto noticed that, and though the smile he returned was less open than Aayla's, Jinx could tell by the subtle writhing of several sensory tendrils that the elder Jedi was pleased.

As they came to a corridor which was, for the moment, safely free of prying eyes, his master slowed their pace for a moment, looking her companion in the eye. _I love you_, she signed with her lekku, and out of the myriad ways she could have signed it, she chose the way that was highest, like a Twi'lek wife would address her husband.

Jinx schooled his expression into the stereotypical Jedi neutrality, though he suspected his surprise was still evident. Aayla had never been this upfront before in his presence, and, judging by the way Master Fisto's jaw fell open (without _quite_ parting his lips), she'd never been so upfront, period.

After a moment, Master Fisto had collected himself. _I love you too_, he replied, and though the movements he used were understated, his signing used the same form that Aayla had chosen.

Jinx smirked as the older male casually glanced over his shoulder at the Padawan trailing him, sizing the young Twi'lek up like he would a potential eavesdropper. Master Fisto didn't know that Jinx could read tentacle-speak, and thus saw his bewilderment quite plainly. That would have to change…but not _just_ yet.

"Is there something wrong?" the Nautolan quietly asked Aayla, and his expression was more confused than concerned.

"No," Jinx said. Master Fisto actually managed to blink, a biological rarity for his species, and cautiously looked back at the young Twi'lek, who reassured him with a bright, falsely innocent grin.

Aayla smiled warmly at both of them, making no attempt to mask her happiness. "Nothing at all."

* * *

><p><strong>I am a completely unrepentant Kit Fisto fangirl, so please forgive my shoehorning him in here.<strong>

**It occurs to me that this fic is now completely biased against clone/Jedi pairings, despite the fact that I am not. Well, darn it. I'll just have to put one in, then. Oh, Barriss!**

**Barriss Offee: *looks up from medical textholo* Now what...?**


	16. The Kid Next Door

**Aaaand I'm back with two more! Enjoy!**

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><p><em>The Kid Next Door<em>

The song that played over the stereo system of the speeder-bus moaned with all the overblown melodrama of a lovelorn teenage girl; unsurprising, considering that it was written for that demographic. The lovelorn teenage girl who sat across the aisle listened to it with rapture, murmuring the words sorrowfully as her eyes went far away and her fingers wrapped themselves in her dark brown hair. Jinx was definitely _not_ a lovelorn teenage girl, and so he scowled at the intercom system and tried to block the song out.

_.:She is the prom queen, I'm in the marching band:._

He did _not_ empathize with the pathetic crooner's ballad, not one bit. The lyrics indicated that she was jealous of a girl she thought was better than her, who captured the attention of the singer's boyfriend more than she ever could. He had no girlfriend, and thus, he had no reason to be jealous of anybody who might attract her attention.

_.:She is a cheerleader, I'm sitting in the stands:._

Captain Rex certainly was _not_ a cheerleader, and nor was Jinx "on the bench" in this war. And Rex and Ahsoka were just friends, anyway. Just like she and Jinx were just friends, which rendered this whole inner argument moot. So there really _was no reason_ for this song to make any sense in his life what-so-_kriffing_-ever.

_.:I get a little bit, she gets a little more:._

Ahsoka looked at Captain Rex like an equal. They looked after each other in battle, in more than just the soldier-commander-this-is-our-duty kind of way. When they hit the battlefield, they moved and thought in tandem in a way that most troopers and their commanders could not replicate, or even sometimes understand. She certainly had never had to drag him away from his own self-pity and get him to fight for what they both believed in.

_.:She's Miss America:._

Captain Rex was famous throughout the GAR as someone who could be counted on, the man who didn't give up.

_.:And I'm just the girl next door:._

Jinx was just a beaten-down kid she met on a moon one day, a boy who hadn't been able to save himself or any of his friends and had eventually stopped trying to do so.

What did he have that he could possibly offer to someone like Ahsoka?

That thought was ugly and twisted and _wrong_ and _it had no business being in his mind._ So he slapped it away, smacking himself right upside the head to clear it out. His lekku stung, and a couple of the other passengers stared at him, but he didn't care. He was a Jedi. He was done with jealousy, self-pity, and doubting himself, regardless of Ahsoka, Rex, and whatever relationship they had.

_Patience_, he said to himself, remembering the advice of his master. _If it's meant to happen, it will happen. No sense forcing the issue._

_And no sense in listening to stupid, untrue teenage girl love songs._

* * *

><p><strong>The song is Saving Jane's "Girl Next Door," a song which I personally have no problem with. Jinx is editorializing because he's not very happy with me for making him listen to it.<strong>


	17. Lemons

**You can thank the boys of Omicron Squad for my long delay in updating. They usurped my mind, and absolutely refused to let me publish anything until I had got their characters just right. Enjoy.**

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><p><em>Lemons<em>

Sergeant Mugs had come into the 'fresher angry – _very_ angry – enough to tender his resignation from the GAR (and those of all the members of his squad) via a blaster bolt to the nearest convenient airlock, angry. Omicron Squad had seen that quite plainly and wisely remained silent. This was the third penitential latrine duty they'd had in as many months; they were starting to accrue a reputation as the most fight-happy squad in the 327th, not a good start for an experiment which already drew a bit too much attention by its very existence. One more incident such as what had happened in the mess today and Bly might disband them – a sobering idea for all of them, not least Mugs. Anger in such a situation was understandable.

Still, Mugs could feel his foul mood lifting from the moment he arrived, due to a combination of two factors: (a) his troopers had started without him, humbly accepting their punishment without complaint, and (b) some brave, perceptive soul (probably Medic Scribble) chose the Roonan lemon-scented cleaner to get the job done. Nobody quite understood why, but that scent, long associated with punishment, shame, or at least drudgery amongst the ranks of the Army, always managed to calm Mugs' heart. Nobody _would_ understand why, not for a long time at least. His "Shnooks" back at the RSO headquarters on Coruscant, with her bright white smile and bright green eyes and penchant for sweet-and-sour beverages made from her native planet's most prominent export, was a piece of himself that he kept well guarded.

In any case, the tactic worked. Mugs was soon in a fairly good mood – which for him meant grumbling and glowering and generally being grumpy, but it was far better than murderous – and the atmosphere was light enough to allow for some conversation.

So, of course, Dante was the first to speak. "What exactly did you _say_ to them?" he asked, briefly glancing up from where he scrubbed the dingy grey floor. The question was directed at Threar, as most of Dante's conversation was – they had been brothers by choice from an early age, and were supposedly as closely knit as some natural-born twins.

Threar sat back on his heels on the other side of the room, where he had been rinsing down a section of wall – hygienic regulations were nothing if not thorough. "Loosely translated, 'your gestation chamber was so ugly, the technician on duty thought it was a urinal.' In Kaminoan, if you must know."

"Ouch."

A low whistle of agreement came from within one of the stalls, where Scribble had holed himself away for the duration of the punishment. "_Fierfek_, what did Epsilon say to deserve _that?_"

"You didn't know?" Dante called. "I find that hard to believe."

"I only joined the fight to try and stop it. _You_ blockheads were the ones that started it."

"They called Droll defective," Threar explained, doing an admirable job of keeping most of the rage out of his voice, if not all. Mugs caught his attention anyway, lifting an expressive brow in a silent order that meant _calm the hell down soldier_.

The language expert of the squad rolled his eyes. "And anyway, it's not as if they understood me."

"They obviously got the gist of it," Mugs warned.

"More intelligence than they've ever shown before," Threar muttered.

The sergeant sighed, leaving it at that for now.

Droll sagged guiltily at his place by the sinks. His was a mild, disarming, sweet-natured personality, the only genuinely _nice_ guy that Mugs had ever met. He honestly tried to avoid fighting whenever possible, especially with his brothers. He just couldn't help the fact that an early brain injury had landed him with a left hand with its own mind, or the fact that that injury, and the taunting that sometimes came with it, brought out the very wide protective streaks of his teammates.

Mugs moved slightly, so that Droll would catch the movement from the mirror. The younger trooper looked up, his right hand pausing in its work though his left hand would not; Mugs threw a half-smile at him, which was returned quickly before Droll went straight back to work. Nothing "defective" there. He could understand Threar's position clearly; he just needed him to be a little less…obvious, in his defense tactics.

"So, what'd you guys think of Commander Erquina?" Scribble said as he switched stalls, a conversation change about as subtle as a rancor, but exponentially more welcome.

"Dunno," Droll spoke for the first time since Mugs had entered the 'fresher. "Seemed okay to me. Distant, but okay."

Of course, _that_ was when the refresher door _had_ to tip open, stealthily and silently. The Commander couldn't have come in when they were discussing their punishment, oh no; he had to come in _right_ as Threar was about to shoot his big, fat mouth off about him.

"That's putting it a bit mildly," Threar growled. "Downright _cold_ is what I'd call him."

Erquina halted in his tracks, as yet unnoticed by everyone save Mugs and Droll. Mugs inwardly cursed the tank that had given him birth, and was about to tell Threar to _shut the kriff up before they were all reassigned to Hoth_ when the young Twi'lek held up a hand, motioning him to keep quiet.

"Uncomfortable, more like," Dante said, taking a moment to rub sweat from his close-shaven head. "He didn't look like he was used to being around so many brothers."

Threar snorted. "Where has he been for the past two years, then? Under a rock?"

The uber-Jedi mask of utter impassivity broke for a moment with a pain-filled twitch of the cheek, and Mugs resignedly kissed every chance of ever returning to Coruscant good-bye. _Damn it, Threar._

"Nah. I caught him head-tail-talking to the General. He's one of those that think clones are _wrong_. Don't expect any sympathy from _him_, boys – he's dead sure we're a smear on the honor of the Republic."

"You read lekku, Private?"

Threar and Dante froze, the dread in their posture as easily read as it was on Droll's panic-stricken face. The water-sloshing sounds from Scrib's toilet-stall immediately died. Slowly, carefully, the three brothers moved so that they were standing at attention, clearly visible, as Mugs and Droll had been doing for the past minute or so.

Threar licked his dry lips. "Sir, I didn't mean–"

"You meant every word," Erquina said softly, dismissively. That voice was dangerous. It was a sharp, bladelike order which meant "drop it" in all-uppercase letters. Somehow, somewhere, this green (even literally, in this case) officer had perfected The Command Tone, and Mugs wasn't quite sure he wanted to know where he did so. "But you still haven't answered my question, Private."

Dante looked at Threar; Threar looked as if he wanted to look back, but didn't dare break eye contact with the Commander. "Yes sir," he said after a moment. "A little."

"Good. You will meet with my Master and me for the next few days, to learn a little more."

"Yes, sir."

Erquina nodded, and then turned to face Mugs. He didn't even hesitate upon seeing the sergeant's oddly-colored eyes, so cool and collected he was. "I have need of your squad for a mission on Ryloth, within a few days. Finish your work here, and then report to General Secura's quarters for a briefing."

The sergeant was perplexed, but he hoped he was professional enough not to show it. "Yes sir."

"As for the rest of you," the little commander called, doing a slow circle on his heels. He did not look at them, rather at the room itself, one head-tail twitching indecipherably.

"…Good job. Even the caretakers of the Temple have trouble getting a refresher this clean."

"Yes sir."

Then, without another word, their enigmatic new CO was gone.

Silence reigned for a few minutes, as they tried to figure out what, exactly, had just happened.

"Is it just me," Droll timidly ventured, "or have we just been adopted?"

Mugs just shook his head, inhaling deeply to remember the comfort of lemonade, feminine conversation, and loving eyes just as green as his were. "I have no idea, mate. Not a blinkin' clue."

* * *

><p><strong>"Brothers by choice" is a <em>beautiful<em> term I found in reulte's _Scars._ I love that fic...it's just about the most poignant depiction of clone culture out there (including Karen Traviss's work, which wasn't so much about _clone_ culture as it was about _Mandolorian_ culture. There's a difference).**

**RSO stands for Republic Service Organization, a non-profit group dedicated to helping clone troopers relax when they're off duty. They're somewhat like nurses and waitresses rolled into one, and the idea of it intrigued me. Check them out on Wookieepedia; they're a pretty tough bunch of girls, and I love them to pieces.**

**S****mall background note on Mugs' name: "Mugs" and "Shnooks" are the two names my beloved grandfather has always wanted to give to a dog. He and his irreverant sense of humor just wanted to see the bewildered looks on the neighbors' faces when he called the animal in every night. ****I noticed that a disturbing number of clones bear names that I would only give to a dog: Rex, for instance. "Mugs" always struck me as a perfect name for a bulldog: tough, kinda ugly, yet sweet and cuddly when you're close to them. Thus, my dear Sarge was born, bless him. ****"Shnooks" always struck me as one of those stupid things sitcom honeymooners call each other (God save the poor man who decides one day to honeymoon with me). Thus, Mugs' lady friend was born. Now you know.**

**Love you, Grandpa!**


	18. Candy

**Two more one-shots, _finally_. Ah, the wonders of a college education.**

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><p><em>Candy<em>

"I don't get it," Threar said, hoping the frustration was plain in his voice. "Don't kids like choc bars?"

Looking up from his seat - a boulder stationed on the outskirts of Syndulla's camp, which in turn was stationed on the bright side of the Twilight Zone, highlighting the Twi'lek politician's sheer ballsy-ness as usual – Commander Erquina favored his linguist with a lightly shrewd expression. "Philosophical questions are not my department, Private," he said, settling back into a meditative posture. "Ask your brothers."

"Tried that. They couldn't help." And what in the thirty-seven highly specialized Rylothean hells was Omicron Squad supposed to know about the tastes of small, spoiled, impossibly feminine military brats, anyway? "And how is that a philosophical question, anyway? Do kids like chocolate, or not? Yes or no does just fine."

A little huff escaped from the CO's lungs, which Threar judged to be his equivalent of a snort. "Actually, it depends on the kid. Hirani Syndulla might just not like chocolate."

_Hirani_: Twi'leki for "exceedingly beautiful," male code for "the _ultimate_ of ultimate Daddy's Girls." He should have known what he was in for as soon as he heard that name. Forces help whoever ended up married to the little minx when she was grown…

"Frankly, sir, that's unnatural. No kid under the age of like…seventy could _dislike_ chocolate. It's in the rules."

"What rules?"

"The rules that govern the universe and all life itself, _duh_. Never taught you _that_ one in mystical force-field school, huh?"

Erquina sighed. "There's a lot they don't teach you there. Not that I'd know."

Threar glared. "Hoi! No going emo on me! I'm a trooper in peril; you have to listen to me!"

The Jedi cracked open one eyelid, the exhaustion and disdain practically _dripping_ from the exposed pupil. "_Peril_."

"Uh-huh. I still don't understand why Hirani doesn't like chocolate."

Rolling his eyes, Erquina seemed to give his meditation up for lost, and uncurled his legs to sit normally on the boulder. "Well, I'm still a little lost on why Omicron is the weird squad of the 327th, but that's just me."

"Tit for tat, eh? I'll tell if you tell, eh? I see what you're getting at." Threar took time to consider. He leaned back on his hands, looking up at the odd _aurora_ Ryloth's star cast at this time of day at this point on the planet, when it had sunk beneath the horizon, but stayed _just_ beneath the horizon, mocking its subjects mercilessly. Whichever force created this world had a seriously kriffed-up mind, make no mistake.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Commander follow his example. The kid's expression was less "kriff my life and everything in it" than Threar's mindset was – though that sentiment was definitely present. He looked more like he was trying to comprehend something that constantly eluded him, even though he felt as if he should know it by now…like wooing a woman, only, somehow, bigger and smaller and more and less important than that. Because Threar was _so_ good at specifics.

"Well, whatever," he continued. "Since you twist my arm about it. Miser."

"I try."

"Thppht," Threar blew a raspberry – what, it wasn't like any _mature_ CO was watching. Speaking of whom: "We're Bly's little experiment squad. Throw the genetic failures and the battle mishaps into one squad, see if they can make up for each other well enough to be halfway competent. You know, for science."

"Genetic failures?" He'd heard about Droll's accident, so he knew what "battle mishaps" meant, obviously.

"Yup."

"You mean Mugs' eyes?"

"Yup." He said it as if it were less than it was. The kid hadn't been around long enough to know what green eyes meant to the Kaminoans, which was a good thing, really. The less he had to be burdened with the knowledge of the massive shit-hand Mugs had been dealt in life, the better.

"So…what about the rest of you?" Erquina could pick up on body language almost as well as a brother, and Threar could tell that he wasn't buying his omission in the Sarge's past. He also wasn't pressing the matter, which was fine by him. Innocence was hard to come by these days; Threar wasn't one to squander it.

"Welp, Dante somehow turned up with bright red hair. He keeps everything shaved now to deflect notice, but doubtless you've seen the pale skin pigmentation he got with it."

The Commander frowned. "That's an…oddly _specific_ mutation."

"Yeah, they fired the n00b who was running our batch after they found out." "Fired" probably meant "hauled off to some distant chop-shop city where they could harvest him for spare parts without needing to explain the screaming," but of course, Threar himself didn't know whether or not that was true.

"And Scribble?"

"Completely different blood type. He can receive blood from the rest of us, but he can't give it. Powers that be put him in medic training to balance the books, so to speak." And from what he had heard, they had been _this close_ to feeding Scrib to the fishes, too. Luckily, such mutations had occurred during the later batches, when aesthetic perfection finally began to mean a little less than actually filling the order. Becoming a medic meant that Scrib was trained to use somebody else as a donor – there were plenty of somebody elses, so it all evened out in the end.

Erquina seemed to consider that. Then he turned his unfathomable, very _old_ gaze on Threar, quietly awaiting more explanation.

"What? I'm perfection incarnate. Ask Dante, he grew up with me."

Twi'lek eyebrows were very eloquent for things that possessed so little hair. Erquina, being Jedi, was a whole lot more eloquent (if less expressive) than most Twi'leks, so obviously his silent "_Riiiiiight_" was obnoxiousness turned up to eleven. Frakkin' unfair, that's what it was.

"Okay, okay, so I have a _little_ trouble distinguishing red from green. Or, even _seeing_ red and green. Fact is, I'm a bit unsure as to whether _you_ are red, green, or just a sort of dark yellow conjured up to mock me."

The kid's face was disgusted. It just kept getting more so as he continued speaking. And, _forces_, it didn't help. He _knew_ he was defective. He _knew_ that his defect, less visible than the others, was less cosmetic and more functional, and that by all rights he should have been terminated when he and the rest of his batch had had their eyes checked at age six (or three, but who was counting). Dante had taken the eye test twice for him, somehow; there had been a sympathetic Mandalorian tutor who had covered for them; he'd learned to distinguish shapes and movement and be extra _extra_ vigilant, and to have excellent aim and learn to speak _six_ different languages fluently just to spite anyone who thought him inadequate. But his very presence endangered his teammates, being found out would get them all kicked out of the GAR (i.e. _reconditioned_, with all the word's horrible vagueness and evasiveness that meant it was _painful_ and _no kriffin' good_). He'd known all that since – _osik_, he'd known it forever. He didn't need some cold little Jedi upstart reminding him of that.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm _wrong_." He was going for snide there, but it just came out as bitter. _Kriff it all_.

"No. You're. _Not._"

Threar blinked, and looked at the Commander's face. Erquina was furious. He was furious in a way that didn't involve growling, or screaming, or anything more than a clenched jaw and one _hell_ of a stink-eye. It was _scary_. Pants-shitting-ly _scary_. But fortunately, it didn't seem to be directed at Threar himself, but at the world.

The young Twi'lek pointed back toward the encampment, calm and collected and kriffin' terrifying as all hells. "You know Hirani?"

Threar gulped, not caring if anybody saw. "Yeah."

"What if she had grown up in a different clan than she did? Not all fathers are as caring as Cham Syndulla, especially not here." The Commander hurt with a pain that was not his, but his Master's; the General was closer to the subject of slavery than him. It didn't make it less real. "She could have been raised from her first breath to be sold for a great deal of money. She could have been _conceived_ for that purpose. She could have been taken off of her world, separated from her culture, to settle a brewing conflict between her clans that she had nothing to do with. And she could have been born less than perfect and thus be unable to fulfill that duty which so many Twi'leks _kindly _enforce upon their children. Would that have made her _wrong_?"

He sensed that the question was not rhetorical, though it might as well have been, for the amount of sound he could put in his reply. Quietly, he made a note to never _actually_ incur the Commander's genuine wrath.

"No," Threar finally managed, after Erquina had glared expectantly at him for several seconds too long.

"Neither are you _wrong_," the Jedi hissed. "What we've _done_ to you is _wrong_. Raising millions of little boys to be enslaved to a conflict they have no stake in whatsoever is _wrong._ _That's_ the stain upon the honor of the Republic, _not_ you."

There were a couple of breaths in which silence reigned, in which time Threar absently touched a hand to one cheek, and found his skin to be wet with tears he didn't remember shedding. The Commander noticed, and looked away to give him privacy. With a flick of an ambiguously colored wrist, he drew Threar's choc bar out of his pocket, breaking off a small block of the candy.

"As for your question…" he muttered, the heated timbre of his voice beginning to subside a little. He took a tentative sniff of the candy, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Hirani's aversion to chocolate might be a Twi'lek thing. Something about the smell."

The young Jedi placed the choc square in his mouth, immediately recoiled, and swallowed like the stuff might hurt him. "Gak! And the texture."

That said, he stood, brushed off his trousers, and offered the remainder of the candy back to Threar, who took it wordlessly. "Good night, Private."

Threar watched him march off toward the encampment, feeling somewhat dazed. Their new officer was abrupt, rude, and completely hard to read.

…He thought he might like that about him.

* * *

><p><strong>Incidentally, I know that guys with mutations like these would be <em>exceedingly<em> rare in the GAR. This is just Bly putting them all in one place so he can (hopefully) deal with them all at once when they get in trouble.**

**I'm not exactly sure who coined the term "reconditioning," but what I do know of it I learned from reading reulte's _Scars_ and sachariah's _When Night Falls_. My hat is off to those most wonderful stories; hopefully I'll get around to reviewing them before the summer is over.**


	19. Where Did He Go

**So, at long last, I rise again from the dead to update this story. My apologies for the wait...hopefully, it will be worth it.**

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><p><em>Where Did He Go?<em>

At oh-nine-thirty-seven local standard time, Contingency Order 66 was transmitted to Commander Bly of the 327th Star Corps near Niango, Felucia.

At oh-nine-thirty-nine, Aayla Secura lay dead; her eyes still open and intensely focused in a way that gave Bly pause. She hadn't had enough time to activate her lightsaber – and she had known it, hadn't she? She'd been cornered, and she'd known it, and she hadn't even laid a hand on her weapon. Instead, she'd turned her back on her soldiers, putting all of her concentration into that one desperate stare in the instant before she'd died.

And, apparently, it worked, because at oh-nine-forty, Jinx Erquina escaped Galle's detachment, disappearing into the dense rainforest as easily as if he'd been born there, despite being reportedly wounded in the ensuing firefight. Five standard minutes later, the little red blip that indicated Erquina's position in Bly's tracking computer halted its progress; Omicron, sent to intercept the young Twi'lek, came upon the blip's coordinates three minutes after that. There they found only the boy's deserted lightsaber, which had been implanted with a locater beacon in accordance with Phase II protocol.

At the end of the day, Bly was _not_ happy. All four Padawans assigned to the mission on Felucia had eluded his forces. Ekria, Lo'gaan, and Zonder were long gone; they'd been closer to base, able to hijack one of the transports and get off-planet. Erquina had not been so lucky; as the eldest Padawan and (ironically) the only one who'd had a living Master long enough to gain any notable leadership experience, he'd been leading the assault on Har Gau, which was deep in the forest and miles away from anything belonging to the Republic. So far, all he'd been able to do was hide – but he'd made up for it by hiding well. He intended to wait them out, Bly knew; the 327th was due back on Coruscant in one standard week, and they had one day left before they shipped out. After they retreated, Erquina could make his own departure without as much caution.

Bly was going to make the most of that day. He'd already failed his orders three times; once more was simply unacceptable. So he threw all of his resources into finding the lone Padawan, engaging them in an exhaustive, hours-long search. Erquina would have had to keep moving, that was for sure; with any luck, they could wear him down, or at least coerce him out into the open, where he held less of an advantage over them.

At eleven-hundred-fifty-three, at long last, the effort was rewarded. One blip on the track screen went static, while its seven companions chased after nothing across the map. Epsilon reported on the comm. that they had encountered the fugitive and were in pursuit; there was one man dead.

Epsilon lost Erquina shortly thereafter, but it did not matter. The 327th converged on the area in which the boy had been sighted. The comm. rang with angry shouts and orders; they were no longer pursuing their erstwhile little Commander, but a brother-killer. They would not take long to find him.

Twelve-hundred-five: Theta caught up with him. He escaped. Two casualties sustained.

Thirteen-twenty-eight: Another near miss, with one casualty, from Epsilon.

Fourteen-hundred: One more casualty, this time from Gamma.

And then, for another three hours, they hit another dry spot. Bly did not know why; he had tightened the gauntlet so much around the area, he was surprised the boy could even breathe without alerting his forces. The troopers were told to keep searching, look in the trees, and keep their guard up; Erquina was obviously not going to spare them out of sentimentality.

Seventeen-hundred-nine: Five blips went stationary on the tracking computer. It was the whole of Omicron.

Omicron. Jinx's _friends_.

_Do you require any further proof of the Jedi's treachery, soldier?_

A chill ran up Bly's spine. Snapping at Epsilon to hold their positions for the moment, he took his own team Beta to Omicron's coordinates to survey the damage.

Only…there was no damage. No trees charred from misfires, no dead troopers…no sign of struggle. The only pieces of evidence that the troopers had ever been there were five – no, _six_ locator beacons, expertly removed from clone armor (and apparently a Jedi's lightsaber) and abandoned to lead him on a merry chase through the woods.

Just then, a message was patched through to his HUD on the faulty planetary comm. system. Automatically, Bly blinked in the required pattern to respond…and began to see a vid recorded from another soldier's helmet – Sergeant Mugs, according to the designation.

The sergeant had been standing in nearly the same position as Bly stood right now when he recorded this vid. Erquina stood in the middle of the clearing, panting, as if he had just stopped running.

Despite himself, Bly could not tear his eyes away from the little Commander whom he had once called by first name. The young Twi'lek stood with his shoulders stooped, his posture indicating he was in a lot of pain even if he wouldn't let his face show it. His robes were in tatters; he'd ripped them up for an impromptu patch-job on his right lek, which hung limp and was covered in dark blood.

But what struck Bly the most – as had been the case before, when another cherished face had spared him one last hurried glance before surrendering to death at his hand – were the _eyes_. Erquina, who had looked Mugs in the face less than an hour ago, seemed to peer into Bly's soul now; those dark eyes, once so determined, so intelligent, so brave, had regressed to the hard, haunted, almost feral expression of the abandoned child he had met one standard year ago. Against his will, the grizzled clone felt a pang of regret for so much progress lost.

In the vid, the boy was surrounded on all sides. He stared at Mugs, not incredulous, not after running for as long as he had, just…sad, in a rigid, hurt sort of way. Slowly, the green Twi'lek eased out of his defensive position to _stand_ there, _waiting_, bone-tired in posture and expression. His uninjured lek moved behind his back, so subtly that Bly supposed he was just shrugging or sighing in his own way.

Bly watched as Mugs raised his deece, finger on the trigger…but his shot was obstructed by white clone armor, rushing suddenly out into the clearing from his two.

"S-stop!" the errant clone stuttered, his right hand gesticulating wildly, his left hand lifeless – dislocated at the shoulder, probably. "Mis-mistake! Don't shoot!"

"Droll, get out of the way."

"No! Sir! Please! There's – there's no way…"

"Droll! Get out of the way or I'll have to shoot you too."

At that, the errant clone seemed to gain some measure of confidence. "Then do it."

Silence. Bly could make out movement in the foreground, as two other troopers looked at each other reflexively, while the medic looked Mugs' way. Mugs, for his part, kept his eyes trained on the insubordinate clone in front of him.

"Droll…"

"Do it!" The clone removed his helmet, revealing a tear-streaked face and a head of dark hair parted in twain by an ugly scar. "Do it, if you think it's so right! But first…Threar, t-tell me what the Commander's saying, behind his back, where he thinks we c-can't see."

Erquina started, obviously surprised that the trooper had noticed. "Droll…"

"W-what's he saying? I-I know you won't tell me, sir, b-but Threar can…"

"It's the remembrance."

At that, all ambient sound seemed to come to a halt. Mug's camera finally shifted, to his left, just barely.

The third trooper spoke again, his voice tellingly thick. "It was the remembrance. For Longshot, Pip, Nexu, Muja, and Harry."

Bly got up the casualties list, looked up the names. They were the five casualties of that day, the ones from Epsilon, Theta, and Gamma.

Mugs had seemed to get it, too, because the camera shifted quickly back to Droll. The scarred trooper nodded shakily.

"Sarge…h-how many enemies you got that'd say the remembrance after they killed you? How m-many?"

The cam remained still for a long, long moment, before Mugs retracted his blaster.

"None."

And there, the vid ended. Bly supposed that was all the explanation he'd ever get. Omicron had taken their little Commander and disappeared into space with him, and left not a shred of evidence as to where they had gone.

His day was up; he had but an hour left before the Corps needed to ship out. The disappearance was a mystery to be solved another time. Right now, Bly needed to tend to the remains of his best friend according to the traditions of the Order she'd died serving.


	20. Improbable not Impossible

_Improbable, not Impossible._

"Return to Coruscant? _Now?_ "

"That's what I said, sir."

"You _do_ realize that I'm now an enemy of the Republic? Each and every one of your brothers has orders to shoot us on sight, remember? And that Coruscant is the GAR's base of operations?"

"That is true, sir."

Mangled, bedridden, and emotionally traumatized as he was, Erquina still managed to level one of his patented "SRSLY?" glares at Dante from across the medbay of the Gossum Commando transport Omicron had…appropriated from Felucia. Perhaps it was because the poor boy was still in shock over the deaths of his Master and nearly every active Jedi in the galaxy, or perhaps he had been through enough harrowing experiences to be able to survive in such conditions with relatively little distress, but either way, Dante regarded his sarcasm as encouraging. Commander Erquina was lucid; therefore he could make an informed decision. Scrib could deal with any lingering mental health issues.

The young Twi'lek closed his eyes in the now-familiar Jedi prayer for patience, and then opened them again, his gaze more focused than before.

"Explain your reasoning."

Dante took comfort in structure. His very world had just ended; therefore, it was perfectly reasonable to call Erquina "Commander" and "sir" when neither appellation applied any longer. It was also perfectly reasonable to make a detailed presentation on just what to do _after_ his world's end, and thus he pulled up the said presentation on the holo-emitter he'd installed in his gauntlet long, long ago. And if there was a trace of some dark, sad sort of amusement on the Commander's face at the sight, well, so be it. They all had their coping mechanisms.

"Exhibits A through C: Jedi Commanders Drake Lo'gaan, Zonder, and Syntyche Ekria." The images – of a human male in his early teens, a young Selonian who was preternaturally large for a male of his species, and a petite Barolian female approaching young adulthood – cycled at the press of a button. "Evidence proves that they managed to escape Felucia in the confusion proceeding after General Secura…"

He realized, too late, that he shouldn't probably have brought up that particular memory. Instinctively, he looked toward the Commander, who looked too little, too young, too vulnerable from where he lay mending.

The Commander looked back with an expression of weary comprehension. "After Aayla died."

"…Right, sir."

Dante took a moment before continuing his presentation, studying Commander Ekria's holo as he did so. He was glad she had survived, so very glad. Force knew the galaxy would need even-minded, logical people now more than ever.

"I triangulated the position of the transport they managed to commandeer before Ekria disabled its locator beacon. From there, I was able to extrapolate several possible destinations for a hyperspace heading, out of which Coruscant seems to be the most statistically likely."

"Why?"

"Because Coruscant is the most diverse of the worlds – the other ten were eighty-five to ninety percent human, and Commander Zonder would not have been able to hide effectively."

"It's a pretty big risk to run on a guess, though. Even an educated guess."

Dante hadn't wanted to pull this card – it probably went against many fraternization clauses, and he knew _exactly _how the Commander would take _that_ – but it had to be done. "There's also the fact that Ekria is a Barolian, sir. She's a living comm. system – she emits a unique signal that can be tracked across most civilian channels."

The result of that information was just as embarrassing as he'd predicted it would be – the Commander favored him with a long, knowing, very Twi'leki glance, complete with raised brows. "Her body emits a unique signal?" he asked flatly.

Dante swallowed, mortified. "Yes sir."

"That you've managed to track conclusively to Coruscant?"

Not for the first time, Dante cursed his pale skin, which blushed so more visibly than that of his brothers. "Yes, sir."

"Without even asking her to dinner first?"

He was pretty sure his ears had gone up in flames at this point, but he'd be damned if the Commander could break his professionalism. "I…hadn't known that was Barolian custom, sir."

Mercifully, Erquina decided to quit the twenty questions, shaking his head slightly with a small roll of his eyes. He considered this new info for a moment, nodding slowly. "They'd probably be able to seek shelter in the lower levels, if they're smart about it. So your plan is to find them?"

"Yes, sir."

"…I still don't like our odds on accomplishing that mission alive, Dant. We'd be better off running to Nar Shaddaa to meet up with my Master's contacts in the underworld."

"Think about it, sir. _Everyone_ runs to Nar Shaddaa, so that's where the bounty hunters loiter – and Jedi are valuable bounties, so you can bet your ass we'll be noticed. But _nobody_ would want to run straight into enemy territory, _especially_ when the Temple's comm. system is ordering them away."

"…And, likely as not," Erquina continued, filling in the blanks, "Coruscant's satellite immigration monitoring system still won't be fully operational after the mess Grievous made of things."

"Which would enable us to slip past their defenses without their noticing."

It was the same trick they'd pulled on the 527th; the Gossum Commandos were in disarray after the unexpected death of their leader, turning on the battle droids with them, hesitating when greeted with white armor and lightsabers. The Corps had had their hands full with the clean-up – too full to notice the disappearance of one little enemy transport until it was too late. Dante had picked up a couple of tricks from his association with Commander Ekria, expert hacker that she was; he was convinced that this ship was now pretty near untraceable. Maybe, if their luck held out, they could pull this off one more time.

Erquina thought over the options, his brow furrowed pensively in that way that his men knew so well. "Certainty of death," he said at last. "_Small_ chance of success…"

And then he looked up, with that half-smile on his pinched green face that was as close to a grin as he ever got. "What are we waiting for?"

* * *

><p><strong>I beg forgiveness of Jackson for the LOTR reference. It had to happen. It really did.<br>**

**On another note, fanatic devotees of Wookieepedia (such as myself) might recognize the main characters from the pre-TCW webcomic _Evasive Action_. After the canon-shattering events of the Season Five finale, _Evasive Action_'s storyline has likely been scrapped thanks to its depiction of Barriss Offee's final fate. Therefore, I feel absolutely no shame in departing from that plot and high-handedly re-imagining it and its characters for my own purposes. Ekria, in particular - her first name is of my own choosing, for one, and for another...well...as you can see, I'm going to be taking a few creative liberties with the biology (and, most likely, the culture) of her species. *evil grin*  
><strong>

**Don't be too sad. _Evasive Action _was dated anyway, and rather simplistic in my opinion. To prove my point: Ekria once faked her death by attacking Darth Vader with a training lightsaber, so that when he inevitably stole it from her and stabbed her with it, she would suffer no ill effects. One: Ani should know what a training lightsaber looks, feels, and sounds like by now. Two: New prosthetic limbs aside, he should be capable enough with his _very real_ weapon to take care of a Padawan attacking him with what amounts to a wooden sword without letting her disarm him. Three: Supposing he isn't that capable, he wouldn't be able to inflict enough damage on Ekria with a _training lightsaber_ to realistically mimic fatal wounds. Four: Even if he could, because he's Darth Vader and therefore awesome, he'd at least be able to sense she is still alive and finish the job. Ekria did not survive her false death because it was a particularly well thought-out plan; she survived for the convenience of the plot (and, likely, because she was a particular favorite of the comic's creator).**

**Now, imagine a whole comic running on that same level of insane troll logic, add in a whole lot of clone bias (to the point that the troopers seem like furniture and/or punching bags, to be kind), a whiny thirteen-year-old protagonist (lovingly drawn in later comics as a handsome action hero who appears much older than thirteen), and the unnecessary death of the only non-humanoid character (and also, conveniently, the most _awesome_ character) in the main cast in a move uncomfortably similar to the horror genre's penchant for treating non-Caucasian characters as expendable canon fodder, and you have my not-so-very-high opinion of the influence of this comic. I, for one, was not sorry to see it go. Hail Darth Barriss!  
><strong>

**And now, I'll descend from my soapbox and attempt to write the rest of this story. Let's see how many months it will take this time, shall we?**


End file.
